


comes and goes in waves

by smallbeans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Depressed Stiles, Depression, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Supportive Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:46:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: Stiles has a bad day, and Derek is there with open arms.





	comes and goes in waves

**Author's Note:**

> I had a bad day yesterday, and it gave me some sad writing inspiration. This is a cute and sad little one-shot about Stiles having a hard day and going to Derek for comfort, and Derek being the ultimate cuddly bear and making Stiles feel better. It's cliche, it's probably been done a hundred times before but I wanted to write it because this is what I want someone to do for me on a bad day.
> 
> Warnings apply - it's only mild, barely anything really but if you're anything like me, even the smallest things can make you a sobbing wreck.
> 
> Title: Waves by Dean Lewis - listen to it, it is beautiful <3

The moment Derek opens the loft door on that drizzling Monday morning, he knows exactly what is going on.

Stiles stands on the other side of the threshold, eyes bloodshot and defined by dark, purple bruises like crescent half-moons beneath them. If the pallor of his skin isn't ringing enough alarm bells, the signs of a sleepless night tip the ice burg. He's hunched in a large jumper that drowns his frame, sweatpants that cuff and sag at the ankles. His hair, though it's usual fluffiness, isn't gelled up and instead resting miserably on his forehead.

Derek only needs to take one sweeping look at his boyfriend to understand that Stiles is having, as he describe it months ago when the first one happened, a 'bad day'. He shoves the door open wider and holds up his arms in invitation. 

Stiles doesn't need verbal permission, already moving forward and collapsing against Derek's chest, arms snaking around his waist to cling on like a scared child. Derek envelops Stiles, holding the smaller frame against him. He can smell the waves of misery and sadness coming off Stiles like a tsunami, flooding the loft and drowning them both. 

They've been together for almost four months now, and Derek has learned what a bad day looks like, and he knows exactly what to do.

Slowly, he walks with Stiles further into the loft, sitting him gently on the large couch he bought a few weeks ago, leather and cushy, so whoever sits on it physically sinks. He's slowly been doing the loft up, investing in small details to make it look more like a home than a cave. He leaves Stiles for barely half a minute, going to the bed in the corner and taking up the thick, fluffy blanket Stiles picked out and some pillows. He goes back to the couch, picking Stiles up when the teen refuses to move or speak, wrapping him in the blanket like a child and placing the cushions beside him. He works like quick-fire in the kitchen, making hot chocolates with hot milk and plenty of sugar.

He dashes back to the couch, setting them down and taking Stiles into his arms as he sits down, placing the teen - still wrapped in the blankets - into his lap. He rearranges them easily so they're slouched together, the blanket around them both, Stiles curled into him and head on his chest. He places the hot chocolate into the teens slightly trembling hands.

He wraps an arm around Stiles, pulling him closer.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Derek asks softly, running his fingers through the brown, fluffy locks on top of Stiles' head.

The teen shakes his head weakly.

Derek nods. He doesn't ask again, turning on the TV and changing the channel to Netflix - another thing Stiles has added to the loft, not that Derek minds. Stiles sips the hot chocolate quietly. Derek doesn't know if the teen is even watching the TV, because Derek certainly isn't. Most of his focus is on the form curled against him, engulfed in the fuzzy blanket, a warmth against him that he craves every moment it isn't there. Under better circumstances, this would be a perfect moment between the two, if it wasn't for Stiles' cruel demons haunting him, dragging up skeletons from his closet and dancing them around him tauntingly. 

Soon, Derek feels Stiles start to shake, and then the first hiccup comes. Derek tightens his arms silently as Stiles starts sobbing, crying softly into Derek's chest, face hidden. Derek kisses his hair, stroking his arms and whispering that he's okay.

Derek doesn't know how long Stiles cries for. He just watches the rain drops run down the large windows in front of him, focuses on the staggered but not worryingly short breaths Stiles lets out, feels his shirt become damn with tears.

"I don't even know what's wrong with me," Stiles says after he's gone quiet, voice raspy. It's the first thing the teen has said since he came in. "I'm just. . . I'm so tired, Der. I couldn't sleep, all I could think about was everything bad and I couldn't think of anything good. And I shouldn't feel like this. I have you, and my dad, and the pack and I don't understand why I feel so fucking sad!"

"Hey," Derek murmurs, lifting Stiles' head and cupping his tear-streaked cheek, stroking the purple hollow under his whiskey eyes. "It's okay, you don't have to be happy all the time."

"But I should be happy," Stiles whispers. "Why aren't I happy?"

"It's okay," he says, kissing the brown, soft feathers of Stiles' hair. "Everybody has bad days."

"I'm sorry," Stiles apologises with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes, "I didn't mean to turn up like this. . ."

"It's fine, Stiles. You know I like having you here," Derek replies kindly. There's a stretch of silence, "do you feel any better?"

"Getting there," Stiles replies eventually, dropping his head down and cuddling into Derek again, curled in his lap like a child, the blankets up to his chin. He hums, "mmm, you're warm."

Derek smiles into his hair, kissing is again. He remember the bags under Stiles eyes and feels the boneless weight in his arms. "Get some sleep," he says. "You'll feel better when you wake up."

"Thank you, Der," Stiles murmurs, already sounding drowsy. "For everything."

"Anytime,"

**~**

Stiles sleeps restlessly for almost an hour before he slips under completely, heart slowing to a soft, rhythmic beat, slow with sleep. His breathing evens out, and he relaxes even more in Derek's arms, completely trusting. It makes Derek's heart race, thinking that someone can be so at peace around him, to trust him to protect them. It makes his chest swell, his lips tug at an uncontrollable smile. 

As Stiles sleeps, Derek takes his phone and texts the sheriff. It's a school day, and it's almost 12 so Stiles' absence wouldn't have gone unnoticed.

_Stiles is with me. He's alright, just having a bad day._

Derek had mentioned to John the first time this happened with Stiles, and John admitted that this is a frequent thing with Stiles. They don't happen often, but it's like Stiles is suddenly overwhelmed with sadness, misery and he can't get out of the black hole he's fallen in. John says it was almost constant after his mother died, and professionals John has asked apparently have told him this is all of Stiles' bottled emotions.

Derek gets it though. He has bad days, has ever since the fire.

_Thank you, Derek. He can stay if he wants. Take care of him._

Derek moves them to the bed later, carrying Stiles in his arms. The teen sleeps on, undisturbed, as they settle on the bed. He puts on a soft playlist that Stiles always listens to, letting it play as Stiles slumbers and Derek dozes. 

He kisses Stiles' forehead, watching as he curls into him even more, and realises that he never wants to let go.

 

**_— the end._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you <3


End file.
